Sunday, March 27, 2011


Can you guess what this is???

I'll make it easy for you. Multiple Choice:

A) My best one mile time ever

B) A secret code I created using the 6th chapter and 14th verse of every book in the Old Testament that predicts how many children I'll have and their sexes

C)How long it took me to sing 3 lullabies tonight

Drumroll please. . . . . . . . .

I really wish I could say it was A, but unless I was riding on Michael Johnson's shoulders, that is completely impossible. And I could say it was B, but then it would be breaking the secret so the code might not work so even if it is a secret code I can't tell you because then I would have to send out another secret code that would melt everyone's computers.

So, I guess it must be "C."

Some nights, I just want to throw the children into their respective beds and sprint to the door, ending the day as quickly and painlessly as possible. Please tell me that you are nodding in agreement right now. You have been there, right? But they want songs. They all do. I've been singing them songs since birth. I've been singing lots of songs. Hymns, broadway tunes, my college choir classic, "Shenandoah," and other favorites. They all sleep in the same room and they each get to pick a song. One night, as I was tempted to skip the tunes, I decided to time myself to see just how long it would take to get through three melodies. It took six minutes of my life. Six minutes to create memories, connections, and tranquility. Not too shabby. The fact is, one day these three little rugrats clamoring for my attention and my mad singing skills will want nothing to do with me. Sure they'll hug me when noone is looking, but will Isaac want me to sing "I am a Child of God" (all 3 verses!) to him when he is fifteen? Doubtful. These are fleeting moments and sometimes they don't just slip through my fingers, sometimes I take my hands away completely just to speed it up. Tsk tsk tsk. It is only six minutes, but every night, every song, every moment carves a place for love and memories. It creates one more thread of connection that will hold fast, even when they are telling me I am lame, uncool, and totally horrible. Deep inside, my voice will mean love, peace, and comfort. Somewhere in their soul they will hear me singing to them that they are children of God, that dreams really do come true, and that castles can be built on clouds. That is worth a few minutes.


  1. Thanks for this. I really needed to be reminded of this tonight.

  2. By the time we get to the song singing portion of getting ready for bed, I'm usually exhausted. Any ideas on how I can reduced the length of brushing teeth, putting on PJs, going potty, and so on, so I have more energy for reading a story and singing their songs? That last part is my favorite anyway.

  3. I don't think your kids will ever call you lame, Morgen! Your experience made me laugh--I was just reminiscing with my kids last night about the time when my oldest, Reynolds, was four. I was singing "Oh, Holy Night" and Reynolds came up to me and said, "Mom, I'll give you a treat if you stop singing."

    But I do understand what you are saying--though my kids don't ask me to sing (in fact, are often requesting me to NOT sing...) they do always want stories! And not just books. They want original-made-up-on-the-spot-and-they-better-have-conflict-and-a-happy-resolution-and-a-princess-and-a-unicorn-for-Clara. I am always so done by that time of night, but after reading your blog, I'm thinking I should be a little less stingy with those six minutes!